


The Agent and the Actress

by cowpuppy



Category: Agent Carter (TV)
Genre: F/F, Fake/Pretend Relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-16
Updated: 2015-04-16
Packaged: 2018-03-23 05:07:50
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,151
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3755566
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cowpuppy/pseuds/cowpuppy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Peggy asks Angie to help her with a mission, Angie agrees right away. Then Peggy explains the mission.</p><p>They have to go undercover, as a couple, and convince a room full of women that they're madly in love.</p><p>Angie's game, but Peggy's been acting weird... and suddenly Angie isn't sure who's the actress and who's the audience anymore.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Agent and the Actress

It all started with a suggestion.

“You know, English,” said Angie, lounging on her stomach on the couch, “I’ve been thinking.”

“Indeed?” Peggy’s eyes never moved from the folder in her hands.

“Yeah. You remember that time my acting fooled those government types?”

Peggy glanced over the top of the file, smirking as Angie’s feet kicked back and forth. “How could I forget?”

Angie rolled onto her back. “Well, I did a pretty good job of it. So, you know, if you ever need a gal to help you out like that again, I think I’d be the gal for you.”

After a moment’s pause, Peggy closed the file and set it aside. “It would be dangerous.”

“I bet it would.”

“You’d have to drop your daily life at a moment’s notice if I needed you.”

“I’m a waitress. I wouldn’t miss it.”

Peggy leaned back in her chair and picked up the file. “I suppose I’ll think about it.”

That was how “Angie Martinelli: Waitress” became “Angie Martinelli: Undercover Asset”.

* * *

 

When Angie arrived home from work a few months later, she found Peggy in the kitchen, pacing.

Peggy.

In the kitchen.

Pacing.

“Slow down, Peg,” said Angie, leaning through the doorway. “You’re gonna wear a hole in the floor.”

Peggy froze. “Angie. You’re home.”

“Peggy. I am.” Angie raised an eyebrow and set her purse on the counter. “What’s got you so worked up?”

“I tried to make dinner.”

Angie darted for the oven but Peggy sidestepped in front of it. “Don’t look.”

Reeling back, Angie crossed her arms and frowned. “Okay, spill. What do you need me to do?”

“I need you to stop looking at me like that.”

“I’ll stop looking like this if you tell me what crazy mission prompted you to try to butter me up with a home-cooked meal.”

Peggy slumped, stepping away from the oven. “Was I that obvious?”

Angie opened the oven and slammed it shut as smoke churned forth. She coughed and staggered back. “English, I’ve never seen you attempt to cook anything in the whole time I’ve known you. Which means you’ve either got yourself a man and you need practice, or you’re trying to get on my good side.”

“I don’t suppose it worked?”

“Nope.”

“It’s the thought that counts?”

Angie flopped into a seat at the kitchen table. “Just tell me what you need.”

Peggy fidgeted. “I need your assistance on an undercover mission. An… unusual sort of mission.”

Angie propped an elbow on the table and let her head rest in her hand. “Keep talking.”

“We, ah… there is a potential asset. A foreign national, the daughter of a diplomat. He is staunchly anti-capitalist, but his daughter might be convinced to share certain secrets with us.”

“What’s so unusual about that?”

“The daughter, our target… she is notoriously shy amongst most people. She prefers the company of… of people like her.”

“People like her?”

“She’s a lesbian.”

Angie shot upright, eyes swelling, brows reaching for the moon. “Oh. And you want me to…” Her pulse thudded in her throat and blood flooded her cheeks.

“Oh, no. Goodness, no. It’s not quite like that. We don’t want to seduce her. We’d like to establish a more lasting relationship, not trick her into revealing secrets.”

“Hate to break it to you, English, but I think she’ll figure out I’m acting pretty soon into that relationship.”

Peggy gripped her arms across her chest. “I imagine she would, but you won’t have to fake a relationship with her. You’ll have to fake one with me.”

"Oh." Angie mirrored Peggy, attempting in vain to massage away the goosebumps rippling up her arms. "Okay, I can see why you were nervous."

Peggy chuckled, then swallowed. "I... there are other women I could ask, but you and I are... I like to think we're good friends. I'd be most comfortable doing this operation with you."

Angie's brows furrowed. "Of course we're friends, Peg." She loosed her hair from its bonds, bit by bit, and it tumbled over her shoulders, glowing in the dim kitchen light. "Yeah, all right. I'll do it."

She smiled at Peggy, but Peggy had not moved. Her fingers squeezed, carving wrinkles into the sleeves of her shirt. "We can't break cover. We must do whatever is necessary to convince the target."

"I know." Angie dragged her fingers through her hair. "This isn't my first op."

"Yes, of course, but..."

"No buts, English." Angie stood and gripped Peggy's arms, hands covering Peggy's. "You've got a mission and I'm the best gal for the job. I'm all in, okay? One hundred percent."

The other woman melted beneath her fingers, breath escaping from her lungs in a long sigh. "Thank you."

"Any time." Angie pulled Peggy close and wrapped her arms around Peggy's shoulders. "Now, how about I fix us up a real dinner?"

Peggy pulled away, smiling. "That would be lovely."

* * *

 

Angie winced as the cab pulled up to their destination. "Look at it, the poor thing. Does Howard know you're trashing his toys?"

Peggy rolled her eyes as they exited the cab. "Howard has offered assistance whenever and however I need it."

"So that's a no."

Peggy sighed. "He owes me. Now, are you ready?"

"Let's knock 'em dead."

Angie followed Peggy to the garage, stepping through the open hatch. One of Howard's cars waited, finish gleaming, hood propped and body lifted on jacks. A mechanic bent over the engine, toes tapping to the radio warbling nearby.

Peggy craned her neck to peer into the car's innards. "Excuse me?"

The mechanic jumped, nearly cracking her head on the hood, and spun to face the visitors. As Peggy straightened, the other woman's eyes raced down Peggy's form like a dragster down a strip. Angie closed the gap between herself and Peggy, standing shoulder to shoulder with her. She cleared her throat.

"Are you the mechanic fixing our car?"

The mechanic's eyes snapped to Angie, to Angie's pinkie brushing the back of Peggy's hand, to their arms pressed so close they could have been sewn together. "That's me. Ma calls me Samantha, but you can call me Sam." She wiped her hands on a rag--whether that left her hands or the rag cleaner, neither Peggy nor Angie was sure--and patted the car. "This beauty belongs to you? Or your husband?"

"To me," said Peggy, resting a hand on the small of Angie's back until Angie stepped away. "Thank you for agreeing to fix it."

"Not a problem," said Sam, eyes darting between the two women, a grin bubbling beneath her lips. "Should be a cinch. I'll have her done by the end of the day."

"Perfect," said Peggy. "Now, would you mind providing me an invoice for the cost of the repairs? I'll need it for my accountant."

"Sure thing. Step into my office." They followed her into the little room, finding space amidst scattered auto parts and piles of yellowing paperwork stacked atop a rickety desk. "I'll be right back, but make yourselves at home."

She vanished into a back room. Peggy crossed to the door, ear pressed to the wood, and when Sam was out of earshot, she turned and smiled at her companion.

"Not bad, English," said Angie, elbowing Peggy. "I think she totally bought it."

"Thank you, Angie. I learned from the best. Are you ready for your time in the spotlight?"

"Am I ever! After that show, I think I gotta prove myself. I can't get shown up by a stiff English broad." She reached out, grabbed the lapels of Peggy's jacket, and pulled her close. "All right, how's this?"

Peggy glanced down at the space between them. "Keep holding my jacket." She stepped closer, drawing their chests flush. "There. Much more convincing." Her arms circled Angie's waist.

Angie smoothed down Peggy's lapels as her heart rate settled. When it faded, she buried her face in Peggy's neck. Her lips brushed Peggy's skin and Peggy stiffened, arms cinching tight. Angie lifted her head. "You all right, English?"

"Quite well, thank you. You may resume your position, Miss Martinelli."

Angie harrumphed, but did as she was told; the pulse in Peggy's throat raced as Angie's lips touched her again. As Angie wrapped herself tighter, the beat quickened. "Jeez, English," said Angie, words breaking against Peggy's skin, "your heart's beatin' like a rabbit's."

"Is it?" Peggy's fingers tightened on the small of Angie's back. "Sam will be back any moment. I suppose I'm nervous."

"Don't be," said Angie, as the first faint creak of a floorboard revealed Sam's approach. "I've got this."

She took a breath.

She spoke.

"I want to dance, baby." Angie mumbled into Peggy's neck, her voice warbling in her best stage whisper. "I want to take you out and let you put your hands all over me where everyone can see."

"I know, darling," said Peggy into Angie's hair. "We'll find a place, I'm sure. Do you think we might ask this Sam? She seems to be a... kindred spirit."

"Oh, would you, baby?"

Sam's steps paused on the other side of the door.

"Anything for you." Peggy peeled Angie away, one finger lifting Angie's chin. Angie glanced up and gulped; Peggy leaned closer, eyes fluttering closed, breath ghosting over Angie's lips--

"I knew it!" Sam exploded into the office, invoice crumpling in her victorious fist. "You _are_ dykes!"

Angie and Peggy sprang apart, Peggy's hand flying to her heart and Angie's to her mouth.

"Are you...?" asked Peggy.

"Oh, God, yes," said Sam. She reached out, face falling, fingers brushing Angie's shaking arm. "I'm sorry I burst in on you like that. Please don't cry, you're safe here, I swear."

Peggy wrapped an arm around Angie's shoulders, pulling her close. "Thank heavens. I thought for a moment we'd been caught."

"Don't I know that feeling." Sam leaned against her desk, brushing her short hair from her face. "I just get so excited when I meet people like me, you know?"

Angie pulled away from Peggy, sniffling. "It's nice to know you're not alone."

Sam grinned. "Exactly." She regarded the two women as Angie took Peggy's offered handkerchief. "So, I haven't seen you folks around."

"We're new in town," said Angie. "We've kind of been hoping we'd find someone else." She bounced on the balls of her toes, glancing at Peggy, then at Sam, until she couldn't contain herself. "Do you know where we can dance?"

Sam laughed. "You're in luck!" She rattled off an address. "You know the dress code?"

Angie's nose wrinkled, but Peggy spoke first. "Of course. It won't be a problem."

When they left the garage in Howard's repaired car, leaving a grinning Sam in their wake, Angie leaned toward Peggy. "Dress code?"

Peggy grimaced. "You'll see."

* * *

 

Angie popped into Peggy’s room, a dress in each hand. “Hey, English, what do you think about—“

Peggy jumped, tie falling from her hands to drape over her chest.

“Whoah,” said Angie. “You look…”

“Absurd?” Peggy snatched her tie and began tying it again. “Bloody lesbian clubs and their bloody dress code.”

Angie crossed the distance between them, laying her dresses on the bed and slapping Peggy’s fingers away from the tie. “Let me. And I was gonna say you look different, but definitely not absurd.” Fabric flashed through her fingers.

Peggy pressed her lips together, eyes lifted toward the ceiling.

As she snugged the knot up to Peggy’s neck, Angie smiled. “Actually, I think you look pretty good.”

“I feel like a clown. Men wear too much fabric.”

“It’s a little much,” said Angie, plucking at Peggy’s buttoned-up shirt. “But you make it work.”

Peggy sniffed, pulling her hair to the back of her neck. “This is the last bloody time.”

Angie flopped onto Peggy’s bed. “It’s not the first bloody time?”

Peggy paused, skin tightening about her temples. “No. Did you want my opinion on your dress choices? I think the blue one is lovely.”

“You barely even looked.”

“I can collect a good deal of information from a glance.”

“Well, okay. Blue it is.”

Angie sprung from the bed. Peggy stepped back, and when Angie stripped down, she stepped back further. Angie turned her back, slipping the dress over her body, holding it up as the zipper gaped open. “English,” she said. “Zip me up.”

One hand settling on the curve of Angie’s waist, the other fumbled with the zipper, knuckles brushing skin. Angie’s hands curled into fists, her teeth digging into her lip, as she fought the gasp waiting in her lungs.

With shaking hands, Peggy dragged the zipper higher and higher, until the dress pulled together. Her fingers trailed across Angie’s shoulder as she pulled away. Angie turned to face her, concealing her shiver in a rustle of hair and fabric. “Thanks,” she said.

“Of course,” said Peggy.

Angie hurried from the room without looking back, and Peggy slumped onto the bed.

“Good lord.”

* * *

 

The woman peered through the slit in the door at Peggy, dressed in a suit and tie and with her hair arranged to look as masculine as possible.

“Never seen you before,” she said.

“We’re new in town,” said Peggy. “A mechanic by the name of Sam invited us.”

The bouncer’s frown blossomed into a smile. “You know Sam! Why didn’t you say so?” She opened the door wide and ushered them inside.

Angie, draped on Peggy’s arm, tightened her grasp as they entered the bar. Women crowded the space, dressed to the nines, half in glamorous dresses and jewelry, and the other half in tailored suits, their hair combed to perfection.

“Dress code,” said Angie. “I get it.” She glanced from the dance floor to Peggy. “You could learn a thing or two about suits from some of these broads.”

“Perhaps.” She turned to Angie, eyebrow raised. “But what do you say we show them a thing or two about dancing?”

“Why, Margaret Carter,” said Angie, grinning and batting her eyelashes, “I thought you’d never ask!”

Biting the inside of her cheek to stave off a laugh, Peggy led Angie to the dance floor.

True to Angie’s act at the garage, they pressed as close as physics would allow, aided by the crush of the dancing throng. Peggy’s hands cruised over Angie’s body, seeking curves and skin and finding all the places that made Angie squeeze just a little bit closer.

“Any sign of our target?” she shouted as they twirled. Peggy spun them, leaving Angie breathless, and when Peggy Carter’s lips brushed her ear, it certainly didn’t help matters.

“No,” said Peggy. “Go to the bar and get us drinks. Chat up a patron if you must. I’ll join you once I’ve had a look around.”

“Got it.” Angie turned her head, cupped Peggy’s face, and pressed her lips to Peggy’s cheek. Peggy craned her neck to meet Angie’s eyes, so close the tips of their noses brushed, and Angie grinned. “See you at the bar.”

She wiggled through the crowd and found the bar, collapsing onto a stool. “Man,” she said to the air. “These dames know how to dance.”

Someone chuckled next to her, and she found a bespectacled, short-haired, graying woman in a three-piece suit peering at her. The woman’s fingers curled around a glittering glass of scotch. “This is the only place we are free to be ourselves,” she said, her accent thick. Russian, maybe. “It is understandable, I think.”

Angie smiled. “Sure is. So why aren’t you dancing?”

“Me? I am old,” said the woman, bending her knee and grimacing as it popped. “Dancing is for the young and beautiful.”

“But you’re still here.”

“As I said.” The woman sipped her drink, stoic as the whisky burned down her throat. She smacked her lips. “I can be myself here.” She patted her tie, the breast of her suit.

Angie glanced onto the floor, but Peggy was nowhere to be seen.

The woman’s fingers grazed the back of her hand. “May I buy you a drink?”

Angie whirled back to the stranger, cheeks coloring. “Oh, thanks, but I’m here with my girl. I’m actually gettin’ drinks for me and her.”

“She should not worry. The time when I would flirt with pretty girls is over. I offer as a friend.”

Angie smiled. “How about a whiskey sour, then? I’m Angie, by the way.”

“Helen.”

“So why not flirt with pretty girls, Helen? I’m sure there’s some dames here who’d love to get a drink from you.”

Helen chortled. “You flatter me. But I had my great romance, you see? We had twenty years together, until the war took her from me.” Her fingers reached toward a silver pin on her lapel.

“I’m so sorry. I shouldn’t have asked.”

“You could not have known. And I doubt there is a woman here left untouched by the war. The entire world shared that pain.”

“Yeah,” said Angie. She turned to her drink and took a gulp as Helen drained hers and ordered another. “I hope Peggy gets back soon. You’d get along.”

“Is this her now?”

Angie spun on her stool as Peggy drew up beside her, giggling as Peggy pressed a kiss to her cheek. “Darling,” said the spy, eyes darting over Helen from tip to toe. “I hope you weren’t waiting long.”

With a sigh, Angie wrapped her arms around Peggy’s waist, leaning out of the stool to press a kiss to the underside of Peggy’s jaw. “I missed you, baby.”

Peggy dragged her eyes from Helen, throat bobbing as Angie pulled away. “Angie…” she said, palm sweeping down Angie’s back to rest at the curve of her waist. Then she shook her head and turned to Helen again. “Hello.”

“Oh, Pegs, this is—“

“Helena Dmitrievna,” said Peggy. “I know.”

“What?” said Angie, as Helen’s face fell.

“I see,” said Helen, turning her glass on the bar. “I admit I did not expect you so soon. I thought there might be some men knocking at my door before they sent someone to my haven.” She downed her drink. “At least they did not send some scandalized actresses.”

Angie gulped her whiskey sour.

“Will you talk?”

Helen rose from her seat, rubbing her knee. “Yes, I will talk. Find us a quiet place, and we will discuss details.”

They found a back room and Peggy barred the door. Angie watched as she shrugged off her jacket and loosened her tie, eyes tracing the shadow of Peggy’s form through her shirt.

Peggy and Helen bartered, rolling through false names and places, living quarters, police escorts and behavior. Angie waited, watching the players in the act, watching the light swaying above them, watching the door.

Watching the glint at the keyhole.

“There’s someone here!” she shouted, pointing at the door. Peggy whirled, throwing the door open as the spy flew down the hall and rounded the corner.

“Get Helen to our home,” she said, grabbing her jacket. “Act like it’s a rendezvous. Lock all the doors and call Howard once you’re there.”

“Peggy!”

“Be safe.”

And then Peggy was gone.

* * *

 

Helen gripped Angie’s hand as they left the bar. She held it as they hailed a cab, pulling Angie under her arm. She held it as they rode to Howard’s mansion, and only released it when Angie darted for the nearest phone and, wild-eyed, told Howard that Peggy had fled and she had an asset stashed away in his mansion.

“You can stay here for now,” she said, leading Helen toward the liquor cabinet. “Until we know what happened with… with Peggy.” Her fingers closed around the neck of a bottle and she uncapped it, lifting it to her lips and drinking. She handed the bottle to Helen.

Helen took it, capped it, and put it back, then herded Angie toward a chair. “Your girl,” she said. “She is a capable woman.”

Angie bent over, head in her hands. The alcohol on her breath tumbled in the air beneath her, tickling her nose. Tears stung her eyes. “I know,” she said. “But she puts herself in danger and God help me, I worry about her. How many chances does a girl get before… you know?”

“She has survived worse?”

Fighting back the sob that threatened to shake her whole body, Angie sat up and wiped away her tears. “Yeah. She’s told me some of it. Not all of it.”

“She will tell you in time, I am sure.”

Angie huffed. “You don’t know Peggy.”

Helen eased herself into another chair. “This is true. But I see how she looks at you. I think, in time, all you will have to do is ask. And maybe you will not even have to ask.”

Shoulders sagging, Angie shook her head. “Peggy doesn’t look at me like that.” She pushed herself out of her chair. “I’m going to change. Make yourself comfortable.”

* * *

 

They avoided talk of Peggy. Angie sat on the couch, staring at the grandfather clock, watching as its pendulum swung and its hands _tick-tick-ticked_ the minutes away. Helen perused Howard’s library, though her eyes followed Angie more than the words on the page.

When the front door opened and slammed shut, Angie bolted from the couch, Helen on her heels.

Peggy leaned against the door, eyes closed, chest heaving. Her shirt gaped at her hip, torn through to reveal bruises and a nasty gash. As Angie stomped toward her, she opened her eyes. “Angie…”

Angie silenced her, fingers threading behind her neck as she dragged Peggy’s mouth to hers. Peggy’s shoulders thunked against the door and Angie’s free hand gripped the collar of her shirt, holding them together as though they might fly apart like matching magnetic poles.

Peggy gasped and Angie pushed closer, harder, until Peggy’s gasp became a yelp and she forced Angie away, fingers trembling toward the wound in her side.

“As much as I appreciated that,” she said, eyes glancing over Angie’s shoulder to Helen, waiting in the doorway, “I really need some medical attention right now.”

Angie sighed and helped Peggy limp to the couch. As they walked, she directed Helen to the medical supplies. “You can’t do that to me, Carter,” she said as she eased Peggy onto the cushions. “You can’t scare me like that.”

With a scoff, Peggy leaned back, reclining on the sofa. “Please. I’ll be quite all right with some stitches and bandages. It was one lousy spy.”

“One lousy spy who ripped you half open.” Angie peeled Peggy’s shirt away, frowning at the wound. Her eyes traveled to Peggy’s; the other woman tried to laugh.

“That was my fault,” she said. “I chased her to the storeroom. I let her get her hands on a broken bottle.”

Angie shook her head. “Stupid, English.” She bent over Peggy and pressed her quivering lips to Peggy’s forehead. “That was stupid.”

When she pulled back, she found Peggy watching her: brows pulling tight, lips pursed. One hand found Angie’s and the other rose, finger just brushing Angie’s lips. Angie closed her eyes, grip tightening around Peggy’s hand, but then Peggy’s finger fell away and she shook out of Angie’s grasp. “You,” she said, as Angie opened her eyes, “have an excellent awareness of your audience.”

Angie followed Peggy’s gaze to Helen entering the room with an armful of medical supplies.

They stitched her up, and Angie held her hand through it, letting Peggy just about break every bone below her wrist. They carted her to the closest bedroom, and as Angie began to leave, to make her way to her own room, she found Helen watching.

They bid each other good night. Angie let Helen pull the door closed, then she slipped into bed beside Peggy, watching the other woman’s shadow rise and fall with each breath.

"Guess it's you and me tonight."

Angie propped herself up on her elbow, hovering just over Peggy, and shook her head. She leaned closer, then pulled away, then muttered a curse in Italian and scooted as close as she could. “Night, English,” she muttered, and brushed a kiss across Peggy’s cheek.

* * *

 

When Angie woke up, Peggy was gone.

She shot out of bed and sprinted down the hall, nightgown swirling at her ankles. She found Peggy in the kitchen, sitting at the table, holding her side and wincing as a kettle of water bubbled on the stove.

“English,” she said. “Are you crazy?”

“I’m sorry,” said Peggy. “But I had to be there when Helen’s escort arrived.”

“Helen’s gone?” Angie grabbed the kettle when it boiled, throwing a glare at Peggy as she tried to rise. “You sit. I’m makin' the tea.”

Peggy remained silent as Angie brewed the tea and filled the two cups already on the counter.

When Angie slid a cup toward Peggy, she asked again. “Helen?”

“Left this morning. She’ll be safe.”

“Thanks to you, right?”

Peggy smiled. “And to you. You got her home and kept her safe. All in all, Miss Martinelli…” She sipped her tea. “You make an excellent undercover agent.”

Angie leaned back. “Yeah, I guess I do."

* * *

 

Things went back to normal.

At least, Peggy seemed to be pretending things were back to normal.

She went to work, came home, asked Angie about her day. Angie made dinner or brought home food from the L&L, and they groused about coworkers and patrons and enemies of state.

But they didn’t mention Helen, or the club, or Sam, or any part of the mission. If Angie steered the conversation there, Peggy changed the subject.

And every night they went to bed, just down the hall from each other, and said good night, and Angie laid awake clutching a pillow, the memory of Peggy’s lips burning until she fell asleep.

* * *

 

She asked after Helen, and Peggy insisted she was fine.

“I have a copy of her file,” she said, patting the stack next to her chair. “I know where they put her and I know she’ll be safe there.”

“I want to see her,” said Angie. “She was a nice old gal, you know?"

“I’m sure she's not wanting for company."

Angie shrugged. "Yeah, but she was kind to me. I want her to know I appreciated it."

"She'll be fine," said Peggy, the first hint of a scowl creeping into her lips.

Angie let her descend back into her work.

That night, Angie crept out of her room and found the file.

* * *

 

Angie knocked on the apartment door and waited.

“Who’s there?” Helen’s thick voice rumbled on the other side of the door.

“It’s Angie. Sorry. I just wanted to say hi.”

The door opened, and Helen, in a neat pair of slacks and a crisp shirt, smiled. “Angie. Come in, come in."

Helen ushered her to a seat, offered her a drink--Angie declined--and grinned as the younger woman took in the space.

"They set you up with some nice digs, huh?"

Helen followed Angie's eyes around the room. "This apartment is quite nice. My wife would have loved it."

Angie's eyes snapped to Helen. "You were married?"

With a sigh, Helen shook her head. "No, not by law. But in our hearts? Yes. We were as married as any man and woman."

"It must've been hard."

"Of course it was hard. But we had each other. It was worth it." Helen leaned back and nodded to herself. Then she glanced at Angie, knuckles bouncing in the arm of her chair. "But you must know this yourself. You and your Agent Carter."

Angie wrung her hands, avoiding Helen's eye. "We would if we were... I mean, we aren't... I don't want you to be angry at me."

"Ah." Helen leaned forward, propping her elbows on her knees. "I see."

"Please don't be mad. I know I deserve it, for lyin' and all--"

"Lying? I saw no lies." Helen grinned. "I saw two women in love."

Angie frowned and shook her head. "Peggy and me ain't lovers."

"But you would like to be."

"I..." Angie's foot bounced. "I don't know."

"You should be honest with me," said Helen. "I am an old woman. I have no time for lies."

With a groan, Angie shot from her seat and paced toward the window, arms wrapped about herself like a shield. She turned toward Helen, then paced toward the empty fireplace. Her fingers traced the frames of the photos there: Helen and another woman, younger, smiling. Helen, the woman, and a dog. Helen and the woman, older, silver pins fixed above their hearts.

Angie turned toward Helen. The silver pin glittered over her breast, the same place she'd worn it when they met. "I love her," said Angie. "God, I really do."

"So tell her."

"I can't do that." Angie's eyes widened in horror. "Peg's the closest friend I've got."

Helen ran her thumb over her pin. "Some risks are worth it. And you know Miss Carter better than I do. Would she really abandon you because you love differently than others?"

Angie laughed. "Peggy wore a suit and didn't bat an eye at a club full of gay women. That's not the problem."

"So what is? That you love her and she may not feel the same? Where I am from, when someone loves you, it is a compliment."

"But what if it gets weird?"

"You are friends first, yes? You will work past it. But if you say nothing, it will eat at you like a worm inside a fruit."

Angie crossed to the window again. Clouds had swarmed over the sky, gray bellies threatening to burst. She sighed. "I have to tell her, huh?"

"This is what I have been telling you."

With a shake of her head, Angie crossed to Helen, standing in front of her. "Stand up, old lady. I really need to hug you right now."

Helen chuckled and obliged, folding Angie into her arms. "It will be all right. You will see."

"Thanks," said Angie. "Jeez, you're like the old gay ma I never had."

"And you are my little gay daughter." Helen kissed the top of Angie's head. "Come back and see me again. And bring your Miss Carter, if she reacts as I think she will."

"I will," said Angie, into Helen's shoulder. "I promise, I will."

* * *

 

The tires of her car crunched over the gravel and rain pounded her windshield. Angie squinted between the wipers toward the mansion.

There, framed in the doorway, fists on her hips, stood Peggy Carter.

Angie gulped and reached for her umbrella. By the time she staggered out of the car, Peggy had halved the distance between them. Angie opened the umbrella like a shield; when she lifted it, Peggy stood in front of her, face contorted and anger fizzling off of her like steam.

"Where," she asked, her voice steady and trembling all at once, "were you?"

"I went to see a friend," said Angie. Peggy glared.

"When I woke up this morning, someone had rearranged my files. Helen Dmitrievna's was on top."

"Helen's a friend."

Peggy took a step closer to Angie; in her bare feet, and with Angie in heels, she had to tilt her chin to burn through Angie's eyes straight to her soul. "Her new location was supposed to be confidential."

"It still is! Just to one more person."

"Do you know the danger you put her in? That you put yourself in? Just to see one old woman you met once on a mission?"

Angie stepped back from Peggy, and her back collided with the car. "English--"

"I cannot believe how irresponsible, how foolhardy that was!"

Angie frowned, and the umbrella fell as she swelled into Peggy's space, forcing the other woman back. "You can't just dangle people like Helen in front of me and expect me to forget they exist!"

Peggy retreated again, licking rain from her lips. "Angie," she said. "Are you attracted to women?"

Goosebumps raced from Angie's shoulders to her wrists. "I... Peggy..."

Peggy's fingers brushed Angie's wrist. "Please."

Angie jerked away. "Great interrogation technique, Pegs."

"Please, just answer the question."

Eyes drifting to the sky, hands wiping soaking hair from her eyes, Angie shrugged. "Yes. Okay? Yes, I like gals."

Peggy flicked water from her fingers. "How long have you known?"

"Since we went to that club? I don't know, since I was a kid, I guess. It just never mattered, you know? I like guys too, and it's not like they're in short supply. So it didn't matter until..." Angie stared at the ground and nudged the gravel with her shoe.

"Until?" Peggy hugged her arms close, one hand free and pressed against her collarbone. "Angie, are you attracted to... to _me_?"

Angie leaned against the car, palms pressing against the wet metal. "Would it change things between us? If I was?"

"Yes," breathed Peggy, stepping toward Angie. "It would change everything."

She stood in arm's reach, one hand still flat against her chest, white knuckles stark against the flush beneath her palm. Angie met her eyes and sucked in a breath; Peggy leaned toward her, just slightly, and Angie's body ached to respond, but she pressed back against the car.

"You say it," she said.

"What?"

"I've made one confession. I like gals, Peggy Carter." Angie gulped. "What about you?"

Peggy inched toward Angie, to the space between her toes, hands falling to Angie's hips. "I was with a woman, once," she said. "Before the war. Before Steve." Her fingers traced the curve of Angie's hips, looping over her stomach. "I liked her very much."

"Yeah?" Angie closed her eyes as Peggy's journey continued, fingertips sweeping between her breasts to dance on her collarbone.

"Yes. But not as much as I loved Steve." Her hands cupped Angie's cheeks. Their hips knocked, bodies meshed like a zipper. "And certainly not as much as I love you."

Then she was up on her toes, rising to meet Angie's lips, to meet Angie's hands, to bury her fingers in the tumbling hair at Angie's neck and to press herself so close they had to part and gasp in shallow breaths, letting their lungs recuperate before they crashed together again.

Angie kicked off her heels and gripped Peggy's waist, locking them together, and Peggy's shirt pulled from the confines of her skirt and Angie's hand slipped inside, leaving chills in its wake.

"I love you, too," she said, as Peggy pushed aside her jacket to find the exposed skin of Angie's neck. "Oh, God."

Their mouths met again, teeth collding, apologies muttered so fast as to break the sound barrier with no break in the motion of their lips and hands.

"Is this," murmured Peggy, as her fingers found the edge of Angie's skirt, "all right?"

Angie grabbed her hand and guided it higher, until her legs wobbled and she whimpered into Peggy's neck. "English," she said. "Just get me outta these wet clothes."

A hand fumbled for the car door, and it was open, and they tumbled through.

Their clothes splattered against the seats as they cast them aside, fingers digging into the leather as Angie held herself above Peggy, lips and teeth tracing the curve of her neck as her fingers and hips drove hard. Her shoulders flexed beneath Peggy's palms and one of Peggy's heels dangled over Angie's back while the other braced them against the seat.

When Peggy gasped beneath Angie, when Angie kissed her, hard, then slow, when their bodies etched in pink from the stitching of the seats collapsed together, Peggy laughed.

"Angie Martinelli," she said, lungs still recovering, words formed in her throat with every effort she could muster, and Angie kissed her again. Peggy swatted her away, and Angie grinned.

"What?"

"You truly are quite the actress."

"And what do you mean by that?" Angie smoothed Peggy's hair away from her face, and Peggy caught her hand and kissed it.

"I mean," said Peggy, "that you led me to believe you had never done that before."

Angie's grin broadened and she captured Peggy's lips one more time. "I haven't. Swear on my grandmother's grave. Actually, I'm not sure how Nonna would feel about that."

"You've never?"

Angie shook her head.

"Not once?"

"Nope."

"Good Lord." Peggy sat up, cupping Angie's cheek as Angie's fingers slipped wherever they pleased. "Are you quite sure you're real?"

"Last time I checked. Look, English... when it comes to you, I'm a quick study."

"Apparently." Peggy shook her head. "Oh, darling. I truly do love you so much."

"I love you, too." As they parted from another kiss, Angie smirked. "So, despite apparently being a prodigy, I really am new at this... you think an experienced woman like you could give me a few pointers?"

Peggy grinned, wrapping an arm around Angie's waist. "My dear," she said, flipping them and pinning Angie beneath her, "I can give you a good deal more than that."

**Author's Note:**

> So this is my first (and possibly only) foray into the Agent Carter fandom. I started reading Cartinelli fanfiction when I was bored at work and I decided I wanted to pitch in. I'm a sucker for pretend-relationships that turn real, and this is what I came up with. I hope you enjoyed it! Please leave comments, let me know what worked, what didn't, if our heroines were in character or if I totally mucked something up in the middle. Or just drop by and say hello, whatever floats your boat.
> 
> [retreats into writing hibernation until Carmilla Season 2 airs]


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